Occupational Differences
by creatoriginsane
Summary: "You know this could be classified as pedophilia." Kissing. What can I say? It's an occupational hazard.


Occupational Differences

A/N: Ehm, well, this is what I thought of last night and I need an escape from all the creepypasta I've read or have been reading.

Warnings: OCs, maybe OoC-ness, sexual situations

Disclaimer: You know what I own, and it's not Vampire Knight—but I own "Kid".

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><p>"It's an occupational hazard."<p>

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><p>Sitting on the teacher's desk, facing the newly-cleaned board, a can of half-empty beer in hand—smirk.<p>

"Ever had your first kiss, Kid?"

Smirk cracked into a scowl. The mid-afternoon sun shone brighter than it normally would.

"What's it to 'ya, Gramps?"

"Just askin', no need to get all defensive—"

"Psh yeah, as if I'll actually believe something that's coming from the mouth of someone who's got his hands all over his former student."

Ooh, that cracked a bone.

"I hate the way you talk."

Feet are propped up upon the chair just behind the desk. A large swallow of beer down the throat.

"And I just love the way you take all the glory and leave me with the scraps."

It was sarcastic, wasn't it?

"You're too young to take one high-ranked vampires."

"You changed the topic, you're envious of me, aren't you?"

A mocking laugh.

"You're such a show-off—"

"Oh yes, I'm young—as young as you wanted to be. You're just too old, you fear that I'll take your place as top hunter?"

A quick look back—forest-green met silvery-blue.

"Not on your life, Kid."

"Yeah, I'll be taking that title while you're still alive."

Smirk met a scowl.

"Respect, Kid."

That sounded dangerous.

"The youth's bound to outrun the old soon enough."

Face-to-face. Anyone sense some sexual tension?

"But the young will always have to depend on what the old know."

"New methods are technically better than the classics—it's faster, stronger, and more precise."

"I use a gun, you use a crossbow—go figure it out, Kid; or you don't know?"

"You underestimate me Gramps—or would you rather prefer the term sensei?"

That sounded sultry—err, wrong. The last word came out longer than usual.

"I doubt you'll be the good student."

It was sarcastic and straight to the point, gruff as well.

"Harsh—" Leaning closer, hands gripping the edge of the desk. . .

"Well? Aren't you going to continue?"

Impatient.

"But I'm no student if you're not the teacher."

Was said in a rather sexual tone. That was severely unexpected.

"An innuendo this time?"

"You expect me to be as boring and as war-thought as always, so why not give you a sudden change of character?"

"Now I think this is what you've been plotting all along."

Smirk met smirk.

Alas the innuendo-giver's smirk dissipated within a few seconds, it turned into nervous, insulted laughter.

"Oh, so you think I've been hatching up plans to get you? Get you as in to have you f—"

"Don't continue that sentence, please don't."

Fearful, huh?

". . . Now I'm afraid that's you plan for me, a naughty mind you have there—sensei."

It was barely a whisper of foul thought.

"Feel free to puke wherever you want, Kid, just get that thing outta your system."

Yet, the other seems unfazed by it.

Hands pull at the other's shoulders, tugging leather and body closer. Nimble legs separate and force the other's hip area to slam at the edge of the desk.

"Then I challenge you to a friendly dare, don't touch me."

Alcoholic breath fades out once clear vision and enraptures in a lusted daze.

Lithe fingers now make their way from the shoulders to the chest, etching indistinguishable patterns.

"A simple denial would make this idiocy—as you call it—stop, but you love this too much, don't you?"

From the chest to the neck, ice-hot touches dueling with the other's bodily control.

"Alas, you get boring at light-speed, you get old too fast."

It was said with great and sudden distaste.

That brought many towers crashing down.

"And you youngsters just keep on doing the wrong things."

It was rough, almost as rough as the warm, calloused fingertips gripping upper thighs—such sensitive skin.

"Wrong things that feel so undeniably right—"

Lips ram against rougher ones in a maddening lust.

Bodies now pressed against each in a helpless grind.

Light fingers scratch at surprisingly soft, contrasting nightshade hair.

Rough fingertips press deeper onto once untouched skin.

Uncontrollable need for domination was present in both.

Intermouth friction caused an overwhelming amount of damp heat.

Stop.

Remove each other from their oral connection, but keep the two bodies deeply pressed together.

"You know this could be classified as pedophilia."

"How old are you anyway?"

"Older than what you think, but younger than you presume."

"Jailbait."

"Who knows?"

"This is against morals."

"You talk too much."

"You talk too less."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"So what if you're an old hag disguised—"

"Again, who cares?"

"Remind me to lecture you."

"That sounds terrifying, whip me instead."

"Masochist."

"You want to."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Then again, if you'd rather be whipped then an arran—"

"Now the old bastard's talking again—"

"Ever had your first kiss, Kid?"

"What of it, Gramps? Plan to take it away from me?"

"Never had one?"

"Well, it's an occupational hazard."

"So who is it?"

"Shut up and just get on with the action and call me by my name, I ain't a kid anymore."

"Wolf."

"What?"

No more coherent words, only names were spoken and moans were heard.

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><p><em>A sickening mixture of alcohol and cigarettes never tasted as good.<em>

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><p>AN: This is short. . . It's late anyway so. . .


End file.
